The Chef's Trial

The Realm of Hatred is as unforgiving as its name suggests. 

The land is a harsh, rugged expanse of jagged mountains and cracked wastelands, where a thick, poisonous fog lingers in the air, making every breath a challenge. Fortunately, the Malvorians—the humanoid inhabitants of the Realm of Hatred—are born with a natural ability to filter the toxins coursing through their unforgiving homeland. Their bodies, honed by generations of survival, have adapted to process the poisonous air and venomous elements that would bring others to their knees.

Rivers of molten rock flow like veins of fire across the ground, casting an eerie glow under a dark red sky. The constant rumble of volcanic eruptions fills the air, broken only by flashes of lightning tearing through heavy storm clouds. Yet, rain is a rare visitor here.

Even the plants here are unwelcoming—trees with twisted, thorn-covered branches look more like menacing sculptures than living things, and most vegetation drips with toxic sap, warning anything or anyone to keep their distance. It's a place where everything feels alive with hostility, as if the land itself holds a grudge. Life here isn't just harsh—it's a torment that some say rivals death itself. Many believe it's the fate deserved by hatred-fueled beings like the Malvorians.

In the eastern part of the Realm of Hatred, there's a place called Echo Hollows—a maze of caverns where shouts of anger never die. Instead, they bounce off the walls, growing louder and louder until the air itself seems to vibrate with rage. It's where Malvorians go to vent, releasing the frustration and bitterness that build up inside them.

People say Malvorians are the souls of those who died in the ancient war between the Grand Emperor and the Emperor of All Living Beings. They carry an anger so deep they don't even know where it comes from, a weight they can never fully understand.

But Echo Hollows is dangerous. Many who enter never come back, lost to the deafening echoes of their own fury, until the madness swallows them whole.

Li Qi, a woman with long, jet-black hair tied into a high ponytail secured with a pristine white ribbon, bent gracefully at the mouth of the cavern. Her nimble fingers reached out to pluck a wrathfruit—a rare, bitter delicacy unique to the Realm of Hatred. It only grows on the treacherous Malice Moss deep within Echo Hollows, prized for its complex, exquisite flavor. Yet, the fruit is as dangerous as it is delicious, highly toxic unless prepared with absolute precision.

Li Qi owns a humble eatery in the heart of the city. Though modest in appearance, her restaurant is renowned across the entire realm for its extraordinary flavors. People willingly line up for hours, some even half the day, just for the chance to taste the dishes crafted by her skilled hands.

The 101st Chef's Trial was fast approaching, and Li Qi had spent her entire life preparing for this moment.

The Chef's Trial was not just a competition—it is the most popular, significant, and deadly event in the history of the Malvorians and the other realms' inhabitants. Despite its dangers, the rewards for winning were nothing short of extraordinary. Even if a dish failed to summon the Emperor of All Living Beings, the first-place winner would be granted the rare privilege of living in the Cloud Palace.

Life in the Cloud Palace was prosperous, a far cry from its former glory but still a paradise compared to the Realm of Hatred. The contrast was like night and day—or more aptly, heaven and hell.

Who wouldn't want to cook their way to paradise? From master chefs to those barely able to whip up a simple meal, the temptation to try their luck was irresistible.

The Chef's Trial gathered its contestants in two ways.

The first was through Realm Scouting, where random invitations were sent out to individuals who met the competition's mysterious and highly selective criteria. These lucky recipients bypassed the grueling preliminary round, making these invitations the most coveted of dreams for hopefuls across the realms.

The second way required effort and risk: contestants had to cook their finest dish and present it at designated posts near the bridge connecting their realm to the Cloud Palace.

Li Qi wasn't one to rely on luck. When it came to fortune, she always seemed to sit at the very bottom of the barrel. Rather than pinning her hopes on an uncertain invitation, she chose the path she could control. Armed with her hard-earned skills and knowledge, Li Qi resolved to create a dish that would secure her place in the competition.

Li Qi had a bold plan: to gather rare wrathfruit and use them as the star ingredient in a light, refreshing salad.

In a prestigious competition like this, Li Qi had done her homework. She knew that most contestants would go all out, crafting the most extravagant dishes they could muster. More often than not, these attempts would either collapse under their own ambition or, on rare occasions, succeed and secure a spot in the next round.

Yet, whether they triumphed or failed, Li Qi noticed a pattern. Every single one of them stuck to the same formula: a lavish main course or an elaborate dessert.

Appetizers, like salads, were dismissed—deemed too light and unworthy of attention. Li Qi understood the logic. After all, how could a cold salad hope to compete against something as mouth watering as a Firebeat Steak? It made sense that no one had ever dared to enter with an appetizer.

But while the others played it safe, unwilling to risk their lives on a gamble for originality, Li Qi saw an opportunity.

And so, she decided to become that one lunatic willing to risk everything on an idea as audacious as hers. A single, daring dish that could change her fate—or cost her everything.

The anguished screams in Echo Hollows were a torment to the soul. Cries of rage and curses echoed endlessly, their oppressive weight pressing into the mind. Hearing them too often didn't numb the pain—it only invited madness.

Li Qi's eyes widened as she fought not to blink, feeling the warm sting of unshed tears pooling at the corners of her vision. She knew better than to let them fall.

Echo Hollows thrived on sorrow, feeding on the tears and blood of those who dared to enter its depths. The cavern's haunting cries weren't just noise—they were weapons, clawing at the emotions of any Malvorian within reach. The more vulnerable they became, the more relentless the cavern grew.

When weakness showed—when sadness or despair slipped through—the cavern responded with cruel precision. The exits would seal, wrapped in impenetrable Malice Moss, trapping its prey with zero hope to return back alive.